Disdain
by Sentimental Semantics
Summary: "My name is Disdain. I served, for the latter part of my life, as a Prophet, and Councilor, of the Covenant Empire. My life is about to end." One-shot, Prophet-centric. Rated T. Reviews are always nice.


**Hey, sup. Thanks for showing the interest to click on this story…. 'Preciate it.**

**I won't hold you for long…to explain a little bit of the base of the story you're about to read, I guess I've got to thank a friend of mine, Avisu, who is very into the Prophets. In the same sense I need to thank Exilo, the first person I know of to write a Prophet-centric oneshot…who really started a fashion, as you can see. I tried to explore with the first-person a little here, something I haven't done much. The story is more thought-stream than description, and is meant to be read as such (i.e, short quick sentences are not intended to be placed solely to disturb the grammar-focused; if it makes any more sense, imagine it as a narration, or a monologue for the stage). Suffice to say, I'd like to thank Avisu and the rest of the RP community we're both a part of for the inspiration to get this proverbial battle-station fully operational.**

…**Sorry, I realize that's a dumb joke. Anyway, here you go. And thanks to Luke-1539 for beta reading.  
**

**-~-**

My name is Disdain. I served, for the latter part of my life, as a Prophet, and Councilor, of the Covenant Empire.

My life is about to end.

It seems incredible to me, now, after having lived through more than nearly two entire Ages, how suddenly and abruptly things can change. Specific constants, and certainties, can remain in place—unshakable, omnipotent—for so long, and suddenly be shattered.

Take, for example, the Holy Covenant Empire. For countless Ages, the most powerful, the most relentless, force this galaxy has ever seen—since the Gods, of course—but where is it now? What has become of us?

In the beginning, it must have been quite simple. The founding. I am sure the first time a Sangheili and a San 'Shyuum signed the same writ, there must have been at least _some _feelings of animosity, from both ends. But it must have been a wonderful moment; it is immortalized in our history. The two races, coming together on equal footing, and joining. Joining, and agreeing never to break, on the blood of their forebears and on the blood of their children. We would seek the way to best walk the Path, and as we did, they would stand alongside us, to protect us from harm.

It must have been so simple, and so happy a time, when that peace was made. When the first High Council sat down, to discuss Imperial matters.

And things remained in that way. Sangheili and San 'Shyuum, sitting across from one another to discuss the intricacies of the Holy Covenant's affairs. It remained that way through the time of their children, and their children's children. For as long as I remember, as far back as my House can trace its history, it has been so. Debates have become heated, but generation after generation, things stayed as they were—sacrosanct, unshakable. Infinite.

I, myself, was born near the beginning of the long, and drawn out, Age of Doubt—the Twenty-Third Age of Doubt, as it happened. My father was a well-off Vice Minister, my mother a strong-willed Minister. They worked in different Ministries, of course, but neither rose to the Council. My father was already rather elderly when I was born, having taken time to find his true love. Several years after my birth, our family gained another member—by younger brother. The two of us bickered occasionally as youths—as brothers are oft to do—but our close-proximity in terms of age made us very close.

Even as a child, I am told, I showed signs of promise. I was quick of mind and quick of wit—how could I not have been, considering my heritage—and my brother was smart, as well. He was rather introverted in comparison to most, pausing thoughtfully to discuss particulars of philosophy and such things, and occasionally slipped into sad, morose feelings. But he was unfalteringly gifted.

It did not take long, therefore, for the both of us to climb up in rank within Covenant offices. My passage was quick to begin—one of several Sub-Ministers in the Ministry of Concert—but then seemed to slow. Promotion seemed like a far off glimmer. Things were not so, however, for my brother.

I watched, from my cozy, but unsatisfying office-job, as he took rung after rung of the ladder, without ever stopping. Promotions seemed to come easily to him; before I knew it, he was the Vice Minister of Inquisition. And so young, as well—still too young to even think of a family.

My parents and I were always very proud of him, of course. By this time, my Father had retired, but my Mother was still present in politics.

Then, something very peculiar happened. Suddenly, the three Hierarchs of the Covenant—Obligation, Restraint, and Tolerance—stepped down. It was rather odd, I felt; since practically my infancy they had headed the Empire. I was curious, but as I expectantly waited for some reasoning for their resignation, I became…distracted. As did the rest of the Covenant. Our eyes transferred from their retreating figures, to the triumvirate of San 'Shyuum taking their place.

I was present at the speech, in person, as they gave their inaugural address—and even if I hadn't had been, I would have heard it. It was broadcast everywhere through both sound and vision. Households rang with the voice of the former Minister of Fortitude; he, the head of the trio, had his voice projected across High Charity, from the highest Aristocratic clubs to the dirtiest alleys of the lower Districts. It was projected to the Colonies, and to the homeworlds, and to those Noble warriors who served on any particular starship in one of our many fleets.

And his message, his charisma…it was invigorating, enticing….exciting! And with these new Hierarchs came a new Age—one of _Reclamation_, which would lead us down the path to Godhood, and the Journey! Who could be skeptical of his message? It spoke of the unity and the peace and the prosperity that had marked our great theocracy since the Writ of Union was first created. The unity in faith, that—when the Path was before us—we would all walk it, hand in hand—and all believers would be uplifted together.

It was a time of joy, which happened to come only moments before the start of the war.

In a particular sense, the entirety of the Covenant was still caught up in celebration, still infatuated and excited with the new line of command and its charisma, when war was officially declared, mandated, and decreed. We are already pumped with the adrenaline of our holy union, we shook our fists and roared in approval at the declaration of Holy War with Humanity. We were still in celebratory ecstasy, still in a period of untouchable good feelings. And so we complied without little complaint. Prophets blessed fleets, and fleets went to war. And we won decisive victory after decisive victory, beating the God-hated heathens back. We eagerly awaited tales of our noble soldiers and their glorious success against the Humans and their colonies.

It was a good time on a personal level as well. My Mother, having served gallantly and happily, retired from her post as well, to join my Father in living out the rest of their days together contentedly. And I finally received my deserved promotion—the day I slipped into my Vice Minister's robes, I could not help but feel a twinge of pity for my forebears. How unlucky they had been, not to live in this happy time!

…In the midst of the war, my brother was called to the front for a particular mission as a key figure in the Ministry of Inquisition—he was called to inspect and bless a discovered Forerunner artifact, and to deliver blessings to the soldiers present at the artifact. A bold, exciting mission—when I heard of it, I felt another twinge of envy for my younger sibling. His posting was truly an honorable one, there was no doubt there. Were he successful, he might have received more promotions, more emoluments—maybe he would have become the head of the entire ministry.

But tragically, unbeknownst to my brother or the soldiers he was sent to bless, there were more than simply Covenant waiting for him on the surface of the planet. My brother, shortly after touching down, was assassinated—killed, by a human sharpshooter.

For the first time in my life, I felt true despair. I remember hearing the news, and I remember being with my parents when they first heard the news. The tears we shed, as a family—but a family that would nevermore be truly complete, until we saw my brother once more, upon the path.

The pain there, it scarred me. It hurt, as something I had never before experienced. The loss, the sorrow. And his funeral only hurt more. It was closed-casket. As I walked up to him, I was not sure whether I wanted to see his broken, bloodied body, or if it would have been better for me not to. I never did; I could barely even make out the shape of the casket, for my eyes were so full of tears. And shortly after this tragedy, another struck—my Father passed away. Old age, presumably, but I had to imagine it was grief.

I returned, sadly, to my duties as Vice Minister, thinking of my brother's empty throne in his own Ministry—but to my surprise, I did not stay there long. Some force selected me, recommended me, from an upper tier—some whispering Councilor who must have favored me, for a reason I still, to this day, do not know. I leapt over the entire rank of Minister, and was suddenly granted a seat, upon the Council.

I would have been joyous, were it not for the depression that still hung over me like a cloud, from the deaths in the family. I remember my Mother encountering me just prior to my ascendance, having heard of my ascendancy to Prophethood. How proud she was. The tears she shed, not out of sadness, but out of happiness, for me. Perhaps I would have felt the same way, perhaps I would have felt the old feeling of success, of pumping my fist in the air. But I seemed null at the time.

They asked me to select a name, just prior to giving me my tan robes—so similar to my brother's. After some thought, I selected 'Disdain'—I selected it, so that I would never forget the way that, as one of the highest voices of the Covenant, I had to regard its enemies. The feeling that I would have, always, for the uncivilized little humans, the vermin that had taken my brother away from me. The feeling in me that, above all else, would be unshakable. Contemptuous, disgusted, and infinite Disdain, for the enemy.

And so I remained on the Council for some time, voicing my loathing for humankind. Applauding every single shard of glass raised to hang in the Step of Silence, taken from a destroyed human colony. All I could think of was my brother, until my Mother, too, passed away, from old age. Happily, mind you—proud that I had reached such a high and noble rank, a rank neither or my parents had ever managed to achieve.

Things remained that way for me for many years. My family, gone, and—considering my genes—no chance of creating a new one. I lived for the Covenant, and the Covenant only; it was my purpose now. Just as had been put in the Writ of Union—I lived, to seek a way to better walk the Path. That being said, my loneliness occasionally made me feel, again, envious for my Brother—he, despite his death, did not have to life a solitary, lonely life, as I did.

And then, suddenly, through my ire, through my lonesome solitude, came something that reminded me, nostalgically, of the joyful occurrences of my youth. I was only sad because my family was not around to see it.

We discovered a Holy Ring.

When I first set eyes upon a picture of it, I felt something. My hands trembled. I removed my small crown from my head. There it was. The sight that my species had been searching for from the beginning of our history. The sight that the _Covenant _had been searching for, since the beginning of our history.

We had found it. Through my disdain, I felt something. Some feeling that all believers must have felt, when setting eyes upon it.

Awe, mixed with a sense of gratitude. Our search, our righteous walk along the Path, had finally been rewarded.

For many days, there was celebration. Festive feasting. The council met, but we met not to discuss matters of political base. A table was set before us, covered in food, and wine. Now was the time our Forefathers had spoken of. Now was the time for Godhood.

And then, in an abrupt moment of loss that every member of the Covenant shared, from the mightiest Jiralhanae Chieftain to the lowliest Unggoy dockworker, I found myself wishing that the past day's celebratory wine had contained arsenic.

The Holy Ring was destroyed.

The cry of anger, and of hatred, returned. Uproar through the colonies, through the fleets. High Charity itself seemed to shake with the anger of the masses. Our path…or glorious Path! Tattered, smashed, broken, at our very feet. I occurred to me then…how lucky my father had been. I was sad he had never been able to see me take my position on the Council, but with that said, he had never had to see such…desecration, as this. To have salvation waved in front of us, before being quite harshly taken away. Taken, just like my Brother's life.

I was present at the trial of that Commander, who was eventually held responsible—'Vadamee, I believe. I heard a nearby Councilor stand and shout heretic at him. All around me, there was outcry for punishment…but I felt none of it. How could my fellows have been so quick to turn upon one of our own? The Sangheili had founded the Covenant with us. Did they honestly believe this one to be a heretic? Did they not think he wept, as we did, for the loss of our Path?

I was present at his Marking, as well. The masses, all about, clamoring for his head to roll. I saw it all, but I saw something in it. I saw something that was, perhaps, heresy.

Was it possible that this one Sangheili was the scapegoat of our noble Hierarchs? By moving our Empire to loathe him so heavily, to so eagerly wait for his publicized death, they drew us away from the loss of the Ring?

No, I shook my head at that. Certainly not. The only thing wrong here was my brothers' inability to put disdain where disdain was _deserved_. This Sangheili warrior had not destroyed the Ring—_humans _had! Cowering, pathetic little heathens. How they had managed the feat, I did not know. But they were to be held responsible.

I saw, more than ever, why they were God-hated. First my brother, and my _people's_ _dream_! Taken! Disdain began to evolve into something deeper, to raw anger, to raw hatred. I wished for the body of a Sangheili, so I could join them on the fields of battle. With my own feeble body, I would do little, but like that, I could kill so many of the creatures. I wished to be sent off with a fleet, so I could _order _their glassings, personally. I wanted to see their worlds burn.

I did not receive this wish. Day after day I sat on the Council, wanting to be on the front. But I did receive something. We found their homeworld.

It was a time of bated breath for me. Of hushed eagerness. I did not want to raise my hopes too high, in case they _somehow _beat us back…but my eyes were clouded, not with tears as they had been at my brother's funeral, but with something else. With something truer to my name. I was consumed, fully, by the feeling of Disdain.

And then yet another quick switch. The eyes of the Covenant transferred from the adrenaline-filling discovery of the human's final stronghold, to something else. A _second _Halo.

So, the Gods watched over us yet?

We went down to the surface. We began our search. And this time, there would be no mistakes. No humans would be given the chance to block our will.

Another tragedy wracked the Covenant. A Hierarch was killed. Regret, the one who had initially discovered the Ring, was taken. I was about his age…but the news of a Prophet killed on the front, made me think of my Brother again. The Disdain seeped deeper, saturating my very mind and soul.

But then yet another thing happened, something rather confusing. The Prophet of Truth, with Mercy by his side, declared a Changing of the Guard. The Honor Guardsmen of the Covenant, who had, since the founding, been noble Sangheili warriors, were replaced by the Jiralhanae. It all seemed very odd, and made no sense. Through Ages and generations, Sangheili had been our primary protectors—first and foremost, that was their _job_, as founders. All this move did was shake up animosity in between them and the Jiralhanae—who, strong as they were, did not seem very…bright, from what I had seen of them. They were devout in their search for the Path, but they were no Sangheili.

This trend of building tension, which was already quite present within the Covenant, continued, just as our search for the Path continued. Until finally it broke, underneath the pressure.

I had been talking, at the time, with a couple other Councilors—Sangheili, as it happened, in a high tower. I had been sipping on some wine, when heard gunfire. Councilor 'Laudanee strode over to the edge of the tower, which oversaw a large courtyard. Councilor 'Zamamee and I followed behind him, after a few moments, me bringing up the rear as I floated along in my light-violet throne.

By the Gods, what I saw. What I saw, down there. A Sangheili, clad in blue, slumped over the side of a short wall, an Energy Stave lodged in his back. Another, several feet away, coated in purple ooze, looking upwards, its mandibles forever splayed in alarm. A third some distance away, its right arm missing, as a pool of blood grew around it.

Before I even had time to cry out in alarm, the door of the tower smashed inward. We three Councilors whirled around, in time to see a group of Jiralhanae standing in the doorway. The one at their front had some sort of giant hammer. Several wore the armor of Honor Guardsmen.

They raised their guns—primitive slug-throwing objects—and fired. I yelled in alarm, pathetically raising my arms above my head, unaware of what was going on. Instantly I heard the ignition of blades, but I did not want to watch. Just before I closed my eyes in sheer terror, I saw Councilor 'Laudanee step in front of my throne—protecting me. Protecting me and my kind, since he and _his _kind had done, since the very beginning.

I heard a smashing noise and a guttural yell, still refusing to open my eyes. Then I heard a series of concussive smashing sounds, and I felt something splatter forwards.

My eyes probably would have kept closed forever, had it not been for my throne suddenly shuddering, and smashing to the floor. I felt so jittered my eyes flew open.

I looked around the room, gasping in terror. I looked up, and several feet away, 'Zamamee lay face-up, his torso filled with large spikes. The smell was terrible.

And then I looked down. Right next to me, I saw Councilor 'Laudanee's figure…his right half missing. His hand was reaching out, on the floor, towards me—but there was no life left in him. I let out a small scream, noting the purple stains on the left side of my throne, and on the bottom of my robes. I would have vomited, then and there, had it not been for the Jiralhanae.

As my Gravity Throne fizzled on the floor, I looked up at the group of them as they approached. Giant, furry beasts, they were. With claws and fang-like teeth. Bandoliers adorned some, and others, the garb of the Honor Guard, that had for so long been only to be worn on the Sangheili—it looked so alien, so improper, on them.

They must have used some sort of grenade-launcher on 'Laudanee, judging by his body. I must have been caught in the explosive radius…and my chair had been broken. Shock at what was happening around me was all that kept me from soiling myself as they approached. Were they here to kill me too? I could not run—there was nowhere to. Was this the end? Was I about to join my family.

The leader, with his massive hammer and brown-grey fur, towered over me. Then, he turned to his subordinates, and barked.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the blow…but there was nothing. Only a slight sensation, of rising.

When I finally gained the courage to re-open them, I looked around me. I was moving forwards…there was a Jiralhanae on either side of me, bearing my throne on my shoulders, holding me up above the rest of the pack like an Emperor, as they stomped away with me held high.

It was only later, in their company, and through the broadcasts of Truth, I began to understand the Great Schism. The Civil War. Our Covenant, being torn down the middle.

Why _now_, I thought? Why _here_, at this moment, when salvation is so close? Why did this have to be so? We were all brothers in faith—brothers do not kill one another! Why was this fraternal blood being spilt? And why were the Sangheili, the confidants and allies of my people for so many generations, on the _other_ side?

I did not know what to think. I wasn't sure what to make of it all. I didn't know what to make of it then, or as the Parasite swarmed over the second Halo, and then over my home, High Charity. I was caught speechless.

But these were the enemies of the Covenant, now. I had to tell myself that. They were not our brothers in faith, they were conspirators against us. I ate it up, because it was what was told to us by Truth. And because it made life simpler. It kept me from taking my own life.

Selfishly, I began to apply my doctrine of Disdain to them. For they were enemies of the Covenant, were they not? Foes of the Journey. And if one thing in me was to remain absolute, it had to be that, as I had once promised myself. Relentless ire for the enemy.

So, I began to loathe them. I drowned out the memories of that tower, sitting and calmly chatting with the Councilors. 'Zamamee's low chuckle at the pleasantries, 'Laudanee's quick wit, and chivalrous defense of me. I pushed it out of my mind. I told myself to look past the savagery of the Jiralhanae, for they were my brothers. The Sangheili were not, anymore. They had broken the promises of the Writ, shamed their fathers, and their children, and their father's fathers and their children's children. I came to regard the bloodstains on my throne and my robe as bloodstains not of a friend or of a protector, but of the foe. The disdained. They were joined with the humans in that way. When they _officially _joined with the humans, it only made disliking them easier.

And of course, deservingly, they came to hate my kind. Our two races focused not on the generations and generations of allied theocratic rule, but the short war that had preceded it.

Through the second assault on the human's homeworld, and through the Ark, and through the destruction, I felt this disdain. Through the ensuing loss, through the ensuing retreat, through the ensuing assault on us and our Jiralhanae allies, I felt it. Somewhere deep down I knew it was wrong, and I was not being truthful with myself, but I went through the motions nonetheless.

I felt it, and I wondered to myself, how had the world come to this? My family was so lucky. I just _had _to be the one, to be here, to witness this time of collapse, of tragedy, of despair?

…And now, my time is coming to an end. I know that, for sure. And I know there were be no absolution for my sins. I know what is to come.

But if I cannot receive absolution from the world around me, I can at least seek it from my guilty conscience.

Our fleets are being beaten back by those of the Sangheili, now. Truth is dead, as is Mercy, as is Regret. As is Tartarus. As are most of my kind. It would seem we are destined for extinction, along with our hulking, Jiralhanae protectors.

Things have changed, so abruptly. Just as my life so suddenly changed, my ship, which I currently reside on at the bridge, was so suddenly boarded.

I have sealed the door, but they are beginning to cut through. I am alone, in here. For, you see, I can not bear to witness it again. Even if this time, it will be Jiralhanae standing to protect me, and Sangheili towering in the broken doorframe, I cannot bear to witness it again. I do not want any more war, any more conflict.

A few moments ago, I sent out a transmission to the ship's crew. I told them to meet me, by the escape pods. I told them I was waiting there, and needed assistance. Chieftain Vesuvius was always zealous in his desire to protect me; I am sure whatever is left of his pack will meet there. Hopefully they will note my sacrifice. Hopefully, they will make use of the pods. Hopefully they will not die.

Initially, I did not like the Jiralhanae. Big, oafish creatures, savage and primitive—their only similarity to me, I felt, was in their spiritual beliefs. But I have come to respect them. They are more dedicated, more loyal, than could be imagined. And even as whispers of heresy begin to sound throughout the Loyalist ranks, they refuse to hear them. And that makes it hypocritical for me to look down on them, for I am not as loyal to the Journey as they are, at this moment. I am not as steadfast.

I have heard the Separatists, and their 'discoveries'. Of how we were, for so long, wrong in all we believed. Of how many wars we led against innocents, of how we, in our quest for the Great Journey, almost caused galactic genocide, not only of our 'heretical' enemies, but also of ourselves. Of how the Rings do not lead to salvation, but instead to suicide.

I am not sure of what to think. It could be wrong or it could be right. If wrong, then things are not much changed.

But, what if it is right?

Everything, _everything_, my species has struggled to achieve, though all of history. Is…is it a lie? Could it really be false? And if it is, how could the Sangheili have not tried to help us see the light more, instead of just killing us all—but, no. We delivered the first strike. In a sense they are justified. The same applies to the humans…if the Journey _is _a lie, was my brother's death not assassination, but…self-defense? Was dedicating my life to Humanity's demise nothing more than unjustified idiocy?

If they—humans and Sangheili—are right, my species' history is some sort of cruel joke. It is just as tragic as all the loss I have faced, is. It is truly…I do not wish to think of it, now. I will push it from my mind, for I will _know _if it is true or false in a matter of moments anyway.

The doors are beginning to give out. I see the tips of blades stabbing through. The time draws closer.

I reach out, to my left, and pour myself a cup of wine. The same make I drank, when conversing with those two Sangheili Councilors. 'Laudanee had suggested it, and he had good taste; it was very flavorful.

In this time period, another thing has happened. Kig-Yar privateers have become very distinguished. Recently I became curious, and I enlisted some, without telling Vesuvius—he would have been very upset. For him and his brothers, I have remained, through this time, the figure of Covenant wisdom and hierarchy. It would break him to see my faith collapse, I think.

The Kig-Yar, upon my request, brought me some human artifacts. Stolen in raids. I took a particular liking to one—a flighty little piece, but charming. I play it, from the small machine to my left, a small human console.

It grates to life. I listen, taking another sip. The song is called 'What a Wonderful World', which, from translating the lyrics, is the focal point of the song. An interesting piece. Humans are actually quite fascinating.

As I listen, the doors collapse, making an odd contrast to the slow, content melody of the human music. But I do not close my eyes. I do not shield my face.

There are quite a few Sangheili, and all have swords. I gaze up at them passively, with a weak smile, and take a small sip of wine.

They begin forwards, at a slow stride, towards me. Gradually, I see some of the swords deactivate…save one. The lackeys of the leader move away, as he continues to stride forward. I recognize his face from somewhere—his two left-mandibles are cut short. I cannot recollect his name, however.

He continues forward as I finish my glass, placing it one of my Throne's armrests...recently cleaned, to be ready for this event. Chieftain Vesuvius was quite confused, when—after telling me the Sangheili had boarded our ship—I began to polish my chair.

I wish things hadn't changed. I wish we had never found the Humans, or the Rings. I wish we had just continued in a state of wondrous oblivion, our contented little world, with the unquestionable, unfaltering certainty of the Path always in front of us. I could offer another glass to this Sangheili as he strode forward, the hilt of his blade in his left hand. Neither of us make any sort of noise as he approaches.

I have heard that some Prophets outfit their thrones with weapons these days. …Hmph. Seems very odd. I cannot imagine why anyone would do that. I suppose I could try and fight, try and deprive this Sangheili of the 'glory' he will gain by killing me. But I feel no reason to. In a way, I want to apologize to him, but I have a feeling that will only make him angrier.

And so, as he raises his sword above me, I clasp my hands in my lap, and wait expectantly for him to strike. I am about to see my family again, if the Journey exists. And even if it doesn't, maybe I will see them again in some other way. Maybe I can share a glass of wine with the ghosts of 'Zamamee and 'Laudanee, or something like that.

But something has occurred to me. My name is still Disdain, but, as this silver-armored Sangheili prepares to run me through as I smile weakly and reassuringly at him, I notice…I feel no Disdain. Nothing. Not for the humans, not for the Sangheili, not for anyone. Just a sense of peace—and thankfully, the human music helps achieve that feeling.

As I feel the sword pierce through my stomach and sink even into the throne behind me, I can think only one thing: how can I feel Disdain for others, when my crimes are far greater than theirs?

-~-

...

**Thanks for reading. : 3**


End file.
